My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

12

It was difficult to tear myself away from Emily this morning. I was glad the taxi was late. It gave me more time to gaze at her from across the dining room table. A far cry from my apartment or bungalow, the place sported a full kitchen and dining room.

“Are you going to stir that oatmeal all morning?” she asked me, amused.

“Can’t take my eyes off of you.”

“Hm, perhaps you should put that to music,” she joked.

Yes, I was familiar with that love song. And oh, how true it was.

The taxi honked. Thank God I’d be driving my own car tonight so I wouldn’t be interrupted out of my musings anymore.  Lee's often called my car 'The Old Lady', something between ‘junk’ and ‘antique’. Staff simply keeps me informed about lower priced gas pumps in town as it's a pretty heavy gas guzzler. Lee, who understands about a man and his affection toward his car keeps me supplied with wax, chrome polish and ‘volunteers' from the motor pool that he bribes with home-made brownies that his mother sends him regularly.

 Lee's been considering attending an ‘antique’ car show in the hopes of showing off his Cobra, and has been bugging me to enter my 1959 Caddie. Nothing like a little healthy competition between friends or father and son.  

By the time I got to the institute, the old NIMR sign was up, but it was gut wrenching for me to see. I’d been so pleased with the new one.

I was about to enter my outer office, when I heard raised voices.

Was that Ron shouting?

 “Oh yeah? Well, we’ll just see about that, Captain!”

“Will you just shut up,” Lee said coolly, “Harry has enough on his mind than to hear you complain ‘again’ about something that’s none of your business.”

“But it is my business! I work here. You should give a damn! That is, unless you have a hand in the till like Bates has.”

“Enough!” I yelled as I entered.

“I found some discrepancies in Bates’ accounts when I was working on the spreadsheets,” Ron said, “I’d like you to take a look at  them, Father, even if my brother thinks it’s my imagination.”
“I didn’t say that,” Lee said. “But Ed’s too precise to let a mistake go unnoticed, unreported, or unresolved. There has to be a logical explanation. You don’t have all the facts, Mr. Nelson.”

“Mistakes ‘do’ happen, Lee,” Ron said, “or do you prefer I call you 'captain' while I’m in your esteemed presence? Strict protocol and all that.”

“Call me the devil if you like, just not ‘bro’. Have you informed Mr. Bates of what you think you found, yet?

“No. I wanted to show Father first,” he said and pulled out some screen prints from his pocket, handing them to me.

“Not now,” I sighed. “I just stopped by to check my ‘in’ box and get my car.  I have another hypnotherapy session to get to. You go over the figures with Ron, Lee. Please don’t kill each other while you do. And remember, Ron, Lee has more experience and expertise with the budget than you. Could be something so simple it hasn't registered in either of your brains. And Lee, it’s possible Ron ‘has’ found an error we need to address. I think I can safely assure you, Ron, however, that neither Lee nor Bates has had a hand in the till. Now. While I’m glad you’re here so this matter can be resolved, Lee, you’re supposed to be on shore leave, aren’t you? And where are you staying?”

“My sailboat. Tight and dry.”

“Very well. But after I get back and go over the discrepancies with you both, I expect you, Lee, to resume your leave. Or at least to stay out of the office. I will allow you a few minutes in the sub pen, as promised, however.”

“Is it safe to come in now?” Angie called before entering.

“The combatants are just leaving,” I said.

“Very funny,” Lee said.

“Actually,” Ron said, “I’m pretty good in the ring.”

“Any time you want.”

“Hold it,” I intervened. “Neither of you are going to settle any disagreements in the ring, besides, Ron, Lee was a middleweight champ several times over at the academy.”

“The academy?” Ron said incredulous. “And how many decades ago was that? Besides, I was pretty good in High School.”

“I don’t care how good both of you were. No fighting in the ring. I hope that’s understood.”

“Even if we follow the Marquis of Queensberry rules?” Ron asked.

“Not even then,” I said. “The topic is closed. Now, go look over the spreadsheets together.”

My session went well, and found that when I tried to light up, I had no desire for it. Dr. Winesap reminded me that it may take six months or so for the sessions to completely alter my ‘mind set’ regarding smoking. And just a few more weeks to help eliminate my stress related stomach pains.

I was surprised to see Chip, in civvies, (thank goodness he knew when to take leave without being reminded to),  waiting for me when I returned to the office.

“What the hell happened?” he demanded before I could even get past Angie’s desk. “It’s all over the place that it nearly came to fisticuffs between Ron and Lee and….”

“And it’s not over yet,” Angie sighed, dumping a bag full of several bent, broken and damaged rivets, nuts, and bolts, onto her desk.  “Lee brought them over. Frame 37. He said you’d understand.”

“Harry,” Lee’s voice preceded him as he entered, “we have a problem.”

“We certainly do,” I said, noticing his damp hair and clothes stained with greenish brown goo, “if you’ve been slithering around in Seaview’s ballast tanks while you still have those stitches.”

“My letter of resignation, Admiral,” Bates interrupted as he followed Lee, handing it to me.

“What?”

“I don’t intend to stay here while Mr. Nelson is telling everyone who will listen that I’m a crook!”

“Hold on, Ed,” Lee said, gently taking his arm. “Ron found some discrepancies we couldn’t resolve when we went over the spreadsheets. We were going to meet with you and Harry and go over them,” Lee said, pulling one of the copies from his pocket and handing it to Bates,“ I know it must be a simple explanation.”

“Just where is my accuser?”

“Ron’s mother had an emergency so he had to leave.”

“How convenient,” Bates said as he perused the spreadsheets. “Oh good grief,  these aren’t mistakes. Remember that X17 fund, Admiral? You had me transfer it to the 71A account. Apparently the bank hasn’t processed it yet. Every penny is accounted for in my hard copies.”

“Well, then,” I said.

“No, you don’t understand, sir," Bates said, shaking his head. "I can’t work with Ronald if he didn’t even bother to ask me about it  before accusing me to everyone in the break room.”

“Look, Ed,” Lee interrupted taking the resignation from my hand, and ripped it in two, “let’s go to Sharkey’s and have a bite. I’m sure Harry will take care of Ron. You won’t have to deal with him anymore, isn’t that right, Harry?”

“He still has some time left on his probationary term of employment,” Angie said.

“Which includes a prohibition on slander and harassment,” Lee said.

“You want me to fire him,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t you?”

Before I could answer Angie interrupted. “You can’t. He has to be given a formal warning about his behavior first. It’s in the contract.”

“Oh gawd,” Bates groaned.

“Can't we assign him elsewhere?” Chip asked.

“And preferably some place far far away,” Lee added, "now, come along, Ed. I think we could both use a drink. Consider it a personal day for you. I’m on shore leave. Join us, Chip? My treat.”

And with that, Lee, Bates, and Chip departed, and while Angie filled out the standard warning form for me to sign, at least I managed to resist the urge for a smoke.

Even though Ron certainly deserves the official reprimand, I somehow feel sorry for him, that he was simply too anxious to prove himself.

And where the hell am I going to reassign him to? Or perhaps, will he accept a severance package and just quit? It would certainly make Bates happy. And Lee ‘very’ happy.

As for me, well, I won’t know what I’m going to do until I meet with him in a few minutes. Perhaps it’s all been a terrible misunderstanding or forgetfulness on his part regarding the terms of his contract.

We’ll see.